


Hollow

by driftingashes



Series: Quarantine Fics Because I Have No Inspiration [19]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Pre-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftingashes/pseuds/driftingashes
Summary: He’s Anxiety. He’s the bad guy. He’s the villain, cast into a role he never wanted to play, given lines he doesn't want to say, and never given a choice about who he was going to be. And it’s fine. It really is. He’s Anxiety. He doesn't deserve to understand what it’s like to be part of a family. He doesn't deserve to be happy, or loved.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Quarantine Fics Because I Have No Inspiration [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021543
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	Hollow

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post on tumblr by random-snippets, which you can find at  
> https://random-snippets.tumblr.com/post/163430648483/forgetting  
> Lemme know if the link doesn’t work, because all credit for inspiration goes to random-snippets/randomslasher (their main blog) on tumblr, and I don’t want people thinking this is my original idea. Ao3 format https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomslasher

Virgil forges sometimes. Forgets simple things, like who he is. Forgets why he was created. Forgets that he is nothing but the sentient embodiment of a disease, a physical representation of a mental disorder. Forgets the very definition of his existence. He has to remind himself later, sitting in the dark on the edge of his bed, curled up in a ball with the door locked and his music blasting, forever grateful for his ability to soundproof his bedroom. But until then, Virgil forgets.

Sometimes, like right now, he forgets. Patton is nearly doubled over in the middle of the living room of the mindscape, laughing at the silly, nonsensical joke he just made. Logan is in his usual spot for videos, right by the base of the stairs, leaning against the wall, facepalming. Roman looks like he just woke up, still wrapped up in blankets, hair mussed and frizzled, staring around him in confusion. Virgil is huddled on the landing like always, slightly oversized black sweater pulled tight around him, and he can’t help it. He lets out a little snort of laughter, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, hoping none of the others hear the product of his moment of weakness. He has to do better. Sinking out, he misses the glances the other Sides give him: Patton sending him a worried glance, Roman glaring, Logan cocking one eyebrow and staring after him with something akin to curiosity.

It happens again at lunch, when Roman bounds out of the Imagination, already boasting about his glorious adventures, and Virgil has to force himself to maintain an air of nonchalance and indifference. But still, he can't help but lean in when Roman retells a rather suspenseful moment, or stifle a small laugh when he recalls a humorous encounter with a troll and a talking mouse. Logan is staring skeptically at him from where he sits on the edge of the couch with a book open on his lap, quickly forgotten as he leans in ever so slightly, engrossed in the story despite his adamant refusal at first to “give in to such childish activities,” but it’s clear his curiosity has gotten the better of him yet again. Patton sits on the floor in front of the couch, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, eyes sparkling with admiration and wonder. Virgil allows himself to think, just for a single moment, about what it would be like to have someone look at  _ him _ like that.

Logan is the worst. Not in a literal sense, of course. But when he begins ranting to the others about some fascinating subject he had recalled from an old textbook of Thomas’s, or found online in some research article or medical blog, Virgil catches himself leaning in, listening in on something not meant for his ears, eyes bright and chin propped in his hands. He has to force himself to look away, stop trying to interject himself into something so obviously meant for anyone other than him.

And so, he lashes out at them, makes sure that they don’t try to get too close to him. After all, if they won't see him as anything more than a villain, what’s the point of trying to be anything else? The urge to try and fit in, find a place...it just isn’t there anymore. When he first manifested, he had tried so hard to be like the others. Now, staring into the mirror and applying his eyeshadow, glaring at his reflection disdainfully, mentally bracing himself to face the others, he understands why he can’t.

He’s Anxiety. He’s the bad guy. He’s the villain, cast into a role he never wanted to play, given lines he doesn't want to say, and never given a choice about who he was going to be. And it’s fine. It really is. He’s Anxiety. He doesn't deserve to understand what it’s like to be part of a family. He doesn't deserve to be happy, or loved.

But…

Virgil forgets sometimes.


End file.
